


of rebels and art students

by wordonawing



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, M/M, dyslexic!enjolras
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-06
Updated: 2014-07-06
Packaged: 2018-02-07 17:34:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1907757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordonawing/pseuds/wordonawing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Grantaire is a freshman and bad at following advice, and Enjolras is a senior and not nearly as scary as everyone says.</p>
            </blockquote>





	of rebels and art students

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [俺の者から離れろ! [Get away from what's mine!]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1714358) by [besanii](https://archiveofourown.org/users/besanii/pseuds/besanii). 



> all credit to the lovely besanii, i'm just having fun with the idea. inspired by her fic and these headcanons (i can't embed links bc im technologically impaired):
> 
> http://tinyurl.com/kyc2834  
> http://tinyurl.com/o5y4ug2

"Is anyone sitting here?"

Grantaire raises his head from where it's bent over his sheet of cartridge paper, expecting to see a freshman like himself, probably pretty nervous about being late and not having anywhere to sit, and finds himself staring at the person's chest instead of their face, which throws him a bit, because this is a freshman art class and none of his classmates are that tall. He's towards the shorter end of the spectrum himself, so he has to crane his neck back to finally get to the guy's head, eyes slowly widening as he takes in the bright red t-shirt, non-regulation jacket, definitely non-regulation earring -

"I said, is anyone sitting here?" the guy repeats, and Grantaire shakes his head so hard he cricks his neck, throat suddenly far too dry to talk because _h_ _e knows who that is_.

The very fact that Grantaire recognises Enjolras is an indication as to how infamous he is around the school, as Grantaire mainly keeps his head down and avoids everyone bigger than him, and Enjolras (just the one name, whether it's his first or second is anyone's guess) is definitely bigger than him. By, like. Two feet. And several kilograms.

But he's heard of him - everyone at the school has heard of him - which is why he shifts to the extreme edge of his chair and makes sure none of his belongings or the edge of his paper are touching the line between their desks, being very careful not to even turn his head in Enjolras's direction.

Enjolras is something of a wild card in the otherwise pretty typical West Valley High School. Aside from the obvious deviations from the school dress code, he wears his blond hair short at the sides, but long enough to curl on top, kind of like a shaggy Mohawk, and his forearms are circled by countless bracelets and wristbands. His knuckles are more often bruised than not, and the crowds in the hallways part for him like the Red Sea for Moses. In four months Grantaire hasn't seen him smile once, and Floréal, who's in his English class, told him in a conspiratorial whisper, as if she was imparting a great secret, that he goes to the school roof at lunchtimes and smokes with his friends. He was on the swim team in junior high before he went off the rails and has the broad shoulders and slim waist to prove it (not that Grantaire's been watching him or anything). The only piece of advice the people he asked before the start of the semester gave him was 'stay away from Enjolras'.

And that's what Grantaire's done up til now. Well, mostly. There was one time a couple of days into the semester when he was too busy trying to follow the map he'd been given to pay attention to the people around him, and walked slap-bang into Enjolras. He would've fallen over, but Enjolras fisted the front of his shirt before he could overbalance, and Grantaire screwed his eyes shut, waiting for the inevitable punch. But it never came; all he got was a gruff "Watch where you're going next time", and an unreadable stare when he cracked an eye open, and then Enjolras was gone, the other students parting for him like always. Floréal nearly had a heart attack when Grantaire told her.

But now the scariest person in the school (most probably the tri-state area as well) is sitting less than a foot away from Grantaire, and Grantaire has no idea what he's doing there. Enjolras must realise what he's wondering, because he says, "Extra credit," glaring at Grantaire with a defiant look in his bright blue eyes, like he's daring him to say anything about a) Enjolras's need for extra credit or b) the fact that he's in a freshman art class instead of a senior one.

Grantaire just bobs his head and makes a kind of squeaking noise that could be taken as an 'okay', if you were familiar with the kind of language squirrels use to communicate, and ducks his head and gets on with his work. Mrs van Damm's put out various objects on the central table in the middle of the horseshoe of desks, and they're meant to be doing still-lifes of them. Grantaire is having trouble with the shading on a plastic apple. Enjolras just puts his red Converse up on his desk and leans back in his chair, phone in his hand and earphones plugged in. Mrs van Damm doesn't say anything, just raises an eyebrow and goes to help someone on the other side of the classroom. Grantaire gets the feeling she isn't afraid of him like most of the other teachers are. He's finding himself liking Mrs van Damm more and more.

And that's how Enjolras joins Grantaire's art class. He turns up for most lessons, which is apparently something of a deviation from the norm for him, although he never does any actual artwork. Sometimes he does homework for other classes; Grantaire can't help but notice that he flies through his math assignments, but spends longer on Spanish, and takes twenty minutes to read a double page spread of his World History textbook. He wonders if he has dyslexia or something similar. It seems odd, that terrifying Enjolras, with his Mohawk and his piercings and his black skinny jeans, would struggle with something that comes so naturally to Grantaire.

They don't talk to each other; sometimes, with a lot of trembling, Grantaire asks if Enjolras would mind moving his rucksack, and gets a grunt of acquiescence in reply, but nothing more than that.

That is, until it happens.

It's Grantaire's fault, really, for getting involved. He's wandering out by the bleachers, trying to avoid the gym teacher because he told him he was feeling too sick to play soccer today, when he hears raised voices a little way away. Naturally, he goes to investigate, and stumbles across what looks like a regularly scheduled altercation: four seniors beating up a freshman who Grantaire recognises from his German class.

"Marius?" he blurts out, because he's an idiot, and Marius looks at him, which means his tormentors look at him, and Grantaire freezes like a rabbit in the headlights.

"Well, well, well," the shortest one, obviously the leader, drawls, stalking towards Grantaire, a predatory look in his eyes. "This your boyfriend, Pontmercy?" He says the name melodiously, almost singing it, and Grantaire winces internally; high school is bad enough without a name like that.

Marius is trying to say something, probably "I don't know him" or "please hit him instead of me", but one of the other seniors punches him carelessly in the stomach, and he doubles over, wheezing on his knees. The leader waves a hand carelessly at him like a boss dismissing a lackey, and Marius scrambles to his feet. "Let him go, boys. This one's _much_ more interesting."

He's looking at Grantaire like he wants to eat him alive, and Grantaire's brain moves on from 'did I just accidentally save someone's life?' to 'what about _my_ life?'.

"Not much of a looker, are you?" The leader makes a move towards Grantaire, like he's about to punch him, and Grantaire flinches back, nearly tripping over his own feet. They all laugh. "Shame. Messing up a pretty face is so much more satisfying. Still, at least no one will be able to tell, huh, fag?" He takes a few steps towards Grantaire, towering over him, and Grantaire shuts his eyes so he doesn't have to see the boy's fist connect with his face and -

A hand on his shoulder. "Get away from him, Montparnasse." The voice is quiet, but laced with steel. Grantaire opens his eyes and turns his head and sees - Enjolras?

Enjolras is standing next to him, his hand on his shoulder, staring at the leader - Montparnasse -, every muscle tensed as if for battle. Montparnasse has taken a step back, but he's smirking at Enjolras lazily. "And what if I don't? What're you gonna do to me, Enjolras? Break my jaw, like you did to Guelemer? You don't have the -"

He doesn't get any further, because Enjolras punches him in the face.

What happens next is a bit of a blur: one second Montparnasse is on the ground with blood streaming from his nose, the next all four boys are on their backs, Enjolras standing over them, perfectly still apart from his heaving chest and his fingers, which keep curling and uncurling themselves into fists. Then he's coming to stand behind Grantaire, his hands heavy on his shoulders. His knuckles are red and purple with cuts and bruises.

"Go near him again," Enjolras says, still quiet, but deeper now, with a hint of a growl, like rocks grinding against each other. "Go near him again, and I'll blind you." There is no malice to the words, only honesty, and Grantaire should be terrified, but he only feels a weird sense of safety, and maybe a hint of satisfaction at the expressions on the seniors' faces.

Enjolras takes his hands back, and Grantaire hears a rustling sound behind him, but before he can turn around he feels another warm weight drop onto his shoulders. It's Enjolras's jacket, he realises, the one with the military stripes up the sleeves and the badges and patches sewn into it from concerts and the local Pride march. It's too big on him, of course, loose around the shoulders and reaching almost to his knees, but the thick fabric protects him from the chill of the autumn afternoon, and he finds himself subconsciously burrowing further into it. He has a feeling it's an act of ownership, Enjolras's way of staking a claim on him, but he doesn't mind all that much. Anything's better than getting the shit kicked out of him behind the bleachers.

The bullies have long since run off in the direction of the main school building, and Enjolras comes around to face Grantaire, looking at him carefully. "Are you okay?" he asks, very gently, and Grantaire suddenly realises that he's worried Grantaire's afraid of him, so he nods and says, "Thank you."

Enjolras shrugs, dropping his eyes to his shoes like he's embarrassed. "Don't mention it. Tell me if they bother you again." He moves to go, and Grantaire starts after him.

"Wait, what about -" he takes the collar of Enjolras's jacket between his finger and thumb, and Enjolras shakes his head.

"Keep it, I don't need it. You can give it back to me in class." He must be cold, in just his t-shirt, but he's gone before Grantaire can protest, a flash of red on the grass before he disappears into the school, leaving Grantaire standing there in his jacket, cosy but very confused.

* * *

Things change after that, in more ways than one. People look at Grantaire differently. He comes into school the next day wearing Enjolras's jacket, because they have art first thing and he figured it would be easier, and whispers follow him down the hallway. He walks past Montparnasse and his gang and shakes all the way, but they fall silent, avoiding eye contact. Grantaire thinks this is probably too good to be true, but they don't bother him again.

Enjolras starts talking to him more, as well, just about small things. He'll ask what Grantaire did at the weekend, or what other classes he's taking, or why he's using a palette knife for a particular piece of work. He lets Grantaire do most of the actual talking, just listening to his answers and occasionally offering them in return. Grantaire thinks that's maybe just the way he is. He does learn more about him, though; his favorite class is Calculus, he likes spicy food, his best friends are called Courfeyrac and Combeferre. They start saying hi to Grantaire in the hallway as well, which means his cool factor among the freshmen sky-rockets, bizarrely.

One day, they somehow get onto parents, and Enjolras's eyebrows knit together. "I'm not good at English, World History, things like that," he says shortly, concentrating on what his hands are doing. "I can understand it fine -" he gets the defiant look in his eyes again, although he must know by now that Grantaire is the least likely person to make fun of him for a weakness in a particular area "- it's just the reading and writing I don't get." He plays with a charcoal stick idly, spinning it between his fingers, leaving smudgy shadows on his skin. Grantaire waits, guessing that he isn't done, and is rewarded for his patience when Enjolras adds, "My parents are really smart. No idea what happened there. They can't understand it either." Grantaire nods sympathetically; his parents are both a) from Orissa and b) accountants, and despite a bunch of tutors his math grades never get higher than Cs. His parents are supportive of his aptitude for the arts, but he still sometimes feels like he's let his dad down in some way by not being a math prodigy.

"I could always help you out." He says it without properly realising, and his eyes widen when his brain catches up to his mouth. "I mean. Not like I'd be any good at, y'know, senior-level English and World History, but maybe just the basics -" oh, God, wrong thing to say, that sounds like he thinks Enjolras is at kindergarten level or something, and Enjolras's face is perfectly blank, he's going to murder Grantaire behind the bleachers and no one will ever find his body - "Just. If you want," he finishes lamely, cheeks burning, eyes fixed firmly on the table.

"Okay," Enjolras says, and Grantaire sneaks a look upwards to make sure he's not joking. He's not smiling, exactly, but his eyebrows are turned up in such a way that makes Grantaire think he could be beginning to, which is closer than Grantaire has ever seen him get, so he takes it as a victory and splits when the bell rings a few seconds later.

They arrange a time to meet up - after school, in the back of the library (Grantaire pretends not to notice the way Enjolras looks a bit sheepish as he weaves between the tables, like he's been caught stealing or something). It goes better than Grantaire expected; Enjolras is a fast learner, even if he has trouble distinguishing between d's and b's and p's and q's, and catches quickly on to what Grantaire's trying to teach him. A few sessions in, he brings an essay on the text he's studying in class to Grantaire, and Grantaire helps him sort his thoughts into coherent sentences. Watching Enjolras discussing the theme of justice in the novel, his big hands gesticulating excitedly, Grantaire is struck by how cruel the education system is, that a kid can be labelled as dumb or slow so early in their life, and never get to be anything else. He wonders if maybe that's why Enjolras acts out and gets into fights (although he's doing less of the latter since Grantaire saw the cut through his eyebrow at one of their weekly meetings and winced) - to define himself, instead of letting other people do it.

Enjolras insists on giving Grantaire math tutoring in return. Grantaire reluctantly agrees, torn between wanting to spend more time with Enjolras and remembering all the college graduates his parents paid for and what a waste of time they all were. But Enjolras is surprisingly good at explaining the concepts and coaxing Grantaire into becoming more confident in his own ability, and while he's obviously brilliant at the subject himself, he also understands that not everyone finds it as easy as he does, which is something none of Grantaire's previous tutors got at all. Plus, Grantaire receives his first proper smile the day he gets an A on a test, and by God is it worth the wait.

Enjolras invites him - well, grabs him by his shirt collar and tows him - to the roof one lunchtime to meet his friends. Grantaire is too intimidated to talk much, but they're all much more welcoming than he expected, and he has a long conversation with Feuilly about art, and discusses books with Jehan (he asks what they're studying in English, and goes to the library after school to get out the texts, so he can help Enjolras better).

The roof lunches become a regular occurrence: Grantaire learns more about the other members of Enjolras's group ("We're not a gang," he told Grantaire when he referred to them as such, and Courfeyrac booed loudly), and they stop to chat to him in the hallway. None of them actually smoke; when he asks Combeferre, he laughs and tells him that it's just a stupid rumor.

(At no point does he tell anyone about his tiny-not-there-at-all-really crush on Enjolras. That would just be embarrassing.)

* * *

"So that's where you sneak off to every lunchtime!" Floréal hits the back of his hand like he's done her a great injustice, really hard. Grantaire cradles his smarting knuckles against his chest. "I'm so proud of you. My little baby, all grown up and hanging out with the bad boys." She wipes away an imaginary tear and turns around in her seat, leaning back until she's got her head settled in his lap, looking up at him expectantly. "Go on, then. Tell me what they're like."

"Well..." Grantaire doesn't really know where to begin, but just at that moment he catches sight of Enjolras across the other side of the cafeteria. They lock eyes, and Grantaire is about to wave at him when Enjolras turns abruptly and leaves without so much as a backwards glance.

"What's got him looking so riled up?" Floréal asks, sitting up to stare after Enjolras as well, and Grantaire shrugs, wondering the same thing himself.

* * *

Enjolras doesn't show up to their next art class, and Grantaire waits in the library until five the next day before giving up. He avoids eye contact in the corridor, bulling past Grantaire like a tank, unstoppable. Grantaire is too scared to ask any of his friends what's wrong, so it's three weeks before he works up the courage to go up to Combeferre outside the biology lab. He tells him what happened, and Combeferre takes his glasses off and cleans them thoughtfully, and then he puts them back on and says that maybe Grantaire should go to the roof today. He smiles and shakes his head when Grantaire thanks him, a hint of secrecy in his calm grey eyes.

Enjolras is sitting with his back to the door when Grantaire opens it, his scuffed Converse crossed up on the rampart.

"I told you I'm fine, Ferre," he says without turning around. "I just want to be alone, that's all."

“Guess again," Grantaire says, voice cracking in the middle of the sentence. He comes to sit in one of the garden chairs so that he won't fall over if his legs give out. Enjolras stiffens at the sound of his voice.

"Won't your girlfriend be missing you?" His tone is light, mocking, but there's a layer of anger underneath the words, and maybe another of something like hurt. Grantaire is so confused he can't speak for a second or two. Why would Enjolras care if he had a girlfriend?

"My g- what?"

"I saw you two in the cafeteria," Enjolras goes on, like Grantaire hasn't said anything. "I must admit, you make a lovely couple. I'm sure your parents will approve." He's chewing on his thumbnail between words, ruthlessly tearing away scraps of skin.

"You think - you think Floréal is my girlfriend?"

"Isn't she?" Enjolras's eyes snap to Grantaire's, fiery, like the roaring blue flame of the Bunsen burners they use in chemistry. Grantaire swallows the lump in his throat.

"No," he says, willing his voice not to trembled. "She's just my friend."

The electric blue blaze holds for another moment or two, and for a second Grantaire is afraid Enjolras is going to hit him. Then all the anger seems to run down his body and melt into the ground; his shoulders slump, his hands unclench, and his gaze drops to his shoes, as if his head is too heavy to hold up any longer.

"Sorry," he says gruffly, still not meeting Grantaire's eyes. "I just - I didn't - "

"It's okay," Grantaire says, and Enjolras finally looks up at him again, which makes him blush and turn his head away. "I, um. Actually, I wouldn't want to date anyone but. You." He says the last part quietly, almost whispering it, but Enjolras must hear all the same, because when Grantaire turns back to him his face is very close to Grantaire's, and his eyes are on Grantaire's lips, and then his _lips_ are on Grantaire's lips, he's _kissing_ him, he's kissing him and his lips are soft and warm and just a little bit chapped and he cups the back of Grantaire's neck in his hand and -

Well.

They're late to art class, in the end, but neither of them really minds all that much.

* * *

Things change, again. They still have their tutoring sessions, but now Enjolras walks Grantaire to lessons with an arm dropped around his shoulders or his waist, or even a hand in his back pocket if he's in a really good mood. They have lunch together every day and Enjolras walks Grantaire home once or twice a week. He kisses Grantaire every chance he gets: soft and sweet and warm, just like that first one on the roof. More often than not Grantaire ends up standing on Enjolras's shoes to reach him, but they make it work. He doesn't just kiss his mouth, either; he loves taking Grantaire's face between his hands and kissing his nose because he says it makes him smile in the most adorable way. (Grantaire says he doesn't believe him and Enjolras kisses him to shut him up, which is a win for everyone, really.)

There is a certain territorial aspect to the affection - his arm always tightens around Grantaire when one of Montparnasse's gang is nearby - but Grantaire doesn’t mind; it’s kind of endearing that Enjolras worries about him so much. He also doesn't mind the rumors flying around about the little freshman dating the scariest senior. They aren't true, anyway. (Well, most of them.)

All he cares about is coming out of the school building to see Enjolras leaning against the big old oak tree in the parking lot, hands in his pockets, sunlight painting his hair bright gold, and knowing he's waiting for him.

And that's how Grantaire ends up with the school rebel for a classmate, then a tutor, then a friend, then, finally, a boyfriend.

Maybe his first year of high school isn’t going to be so bad after all.


End file.
